Fallen Angels
by FeigningInocence
Summary: Harry James Potter has finally defeated Lord Voldemort and has finally brought peace to both the wizarding and muggle world and allow them to sleep easily at night. Only now Harry is sentenced to life in Azkaban for the murder of not only Voldemort but th
1. Alone

**Authoress' Note: **This is a one-shot. I'm not really sure how far this is going to go. It might not go farther than the first chapter. If it does then I will most definitely continue this. If I _do_ continue this it won't be on a regular basis like my other fanfiction, _Dancing in the Rain_. But I won't abandon this because I think this would make an excelent story. But it's all your decision.

**Title: **_Fallen Angels_

**Summary: **Harry Potter has finally defeated the Dark Lord and has allowed both the wizarding and muggle world to breath in peace. The only problem is that Cornielius Fudge, Minister of Magic, has decided that Harry is a criminal in the making and sentences the hero to life of imprissonment in Azkaban. Defending himself against horrific memories that are cast upon him by the Dementors are torture enough without having hungry reporters hawk in on him, each wanting answers he's not willing to give. But maybe wtih a little encouragement from a new friend might save the hero from his own demise. Maybe...

**Rating: **PG-13 for mild language, violence, and angst. The Rating might be changed later on, but I'm not sure.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly, I do not own any of the HP world. It all belongs to WB and J.K. Rowling. I only own the characters, places, et cetera that you do _not_ recognize.

**_Introduction: _**Alone

_Alone. That's what he was, utterly alone. He was separated from what he knew what was true, and what they said was true. How long ago had he wondered what it might've been like for him to survive such a place? Such a cold, desolate place was a niche of Hell. If there was such a thing as Heaven, than this was most definitely Hell. People normally associate Hell being a horrid fiery pit, but no they were wrong. Hell was a cold barren place where the evils feed off of your soul, and torture you with your worst memories. Such a place didn't deserve a name, but it had one nerveless. It was called Azkaban, and Harold James Potter was one of its many occupants._

Reviews are highly welcome!!!!!!!!


	2. What Happened

**Authoress' Note: **_Okay... This is the first chapter of my story. It basically is just an overveiw to what happened before. I didn't want to get into detail on how Harry defeated Voldemort because well.... I didn't want to. I will later on, but not right now. I hope you enjoy reading this and reviews are highly appreciated!_

**_Disclaimer:_** _Sadly, I do not own any of the HP characters or anything cannon that you recognize. I do however own the plot and characters and et cetera that you don't recognize. Don't sue me, you won't get much. _

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**Chapter One: **What Happened

That final memory came in sharp, blinding flashes that seared his mind and burned his soul. He wanted more than anything to be able to repel the power of the Dementors. More than that he wanted to forget those most painful memories. Most especially the one when he had seen the brewing hatred in the eyes of his two most beloved friends at the trial.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley had been his best friends since first year and had been there for him through thick and thin. They were the only ones who had understood him, the only ones who had believed him before they even _considered_ listening to anyone else. They were his best friends; his soul mates. At least he had once believed they were. But when the mysterious death of Arthur Weasley, proud husband and father of the Weasleys' had appeared everyone suddenly believed that Harry had done it. The believed that he, Harry Potter, had killed his best friend's father.

During the trial they had used the Veritism Potion on him, hoping to get him to confess to his charges. But Cornelius Fudge was smarter than he looked. Instead of asking directly if Harry had killed Arthur Weasley, he instead asked if he _believed_ he was at fault for the death of Mr. Weasley. Harry knew he hadn't killed Mr. Weasley, but he did truly believe that it had been his fault that Arthur Weasley was dead.

Of course he wasn't able to say all of this because the Minister of Magic wouldn't allow him to elaborate on his answers. The rest of the trial had proceeded in that manner for several hours, and each passing hour the jury and the courtroom started to believe that Harry wasn't the hero they had made him out to be. No, he wasn't a hero at all, he was a criminal and if they were to let him roam free then who's to say that he wouldn't come out as the next Dark Lord? He was already more powerful than Albus Dumbledore and it was rumored that he might someday be just as, or even _more_ powerful than Merlin. No, they couldn't let him free, not when they had finally gotten ridden rid of Voldemort and had already started to slowly rebuild their lives again.

Naturally they had forgotten that it was Harry who had defeated the Dark Lord, and not them. And naturally they had forgotten about the small tiny fact that the old prophesy that had been made many years ago foretold of an angel of light who would rescue them from the darkness, therefore completely putting out the fact that Harry could ever possibly be evil.

But that was past and there was nothing the forgotten hero could do about it. Not that he tried, because he had.

In the beginning he had pounded against the bars of his jail cell that were coppery in color from years of rust and neglect. He'd shouted and cried for mercy, begging for someone to listen to him. Begging for his friends, who'd believed _them_ instead of him.

That had been the last straw; the realization that his friends had abandoned him in the cold heartless world that was Azkaban. And when he realized that, he realized that there was no more hope for anyone ever giving him that one chance that he so desperately wanted. The chance to redeem himself, to tell of his pains. The chance to tell them his story; to tell them how it really happened. To tell them the truth.

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	3. Visitors

**Authoress' Note: **_Yes, I do realize that it says that his name is Harry and not Harrold. But Harry is short for Harrold, and that's how I want it to be. Anyways, the story has now finally starting to roll. I'm not going to post again for a little bit because I have a lot going on right now and I don't have that much time. So... I hope you enjoy this chapter and reviews are welcome!_

**Disclaimer: **_This is only my third time writing this 'disclaimer' crap and I'm already tired of it. You all know I don't own any of it except the stuff you don't recognize, so what's the point? Oh well... if it means I won't get sued then whatever. I DON'T OWN ANY OF THIS EXCEPT THE STUFF YOU DON'T RECOGNIZE. There... I said it. _

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**Chapter Two: **Visitors

He didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was. He had lost all knowledge of such petty things like that. It was sad, that he'd think that such things were petty. But they were compared to what really mattered in his mind. And what mattered was his innocence and the fact that there was nothing he could do to prove it.

Harry Potter was a broken boy of only nineteen years old. He had only spent a few months in that dreaded and horrific place, but to him it felt like centuries. And he looked it, too. Each and every second passed painfully slow, and squeezed his emotions dry and turned him bitter. He had nothing left, no friends, no family, no _life._ There was nothing left for him to live for. He would have gladly killed himself and put an end to his never ending misery, but _they_ wouldn't allow it. He might come back like Lord Voldemort and reek havoc on their precious world when they had just started to rebuild it. They also didn't want him dead because there was still the unsolved mystery. The story that only Harry Potter knew and that everyone else wanted to know.

They should have asked him in the beginning. He would have gladly told them, but when he had realized that he had nothing left it was like he had sold his tongue to the Devil and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Though many tried.

The first time a reporter had come to Azkaban to get him to talk would be forever imprinted in his mind. He had long given up speaking what had happened by then which had made the whole situation even worse.

It had been a young woman who had walked those Hellish halls down to his cell, just coming out of Hogwarts and out on her first article for the _Daily Prophet_.

He remembered how she'd had dark hair pulled in a lose pony tail that swung over her right shoulder and dark inquisitive eyes and a hungry smile that spread over her features when she first saw him. The bright pastel blue robes she wore stood out in the darkness, making him blink in surprise.

"Are you Harry Potter?" She had asked, a coy smile playing on her lips. Had there been any emotion left in his system he would've had to fight to keep a smirk from forming. She was trying to play on his non-existent feelings to get him to speak up. She would be the first of many to try it.

"Do you see any other boy in this Hell Hole with a scar on his forehead?" He rasped out. Maybe it was the way he showed no feeling when he spoke that her facade broke and she grew impatient. Which was the wrong thing to do with anyone, especially Harry James Potter.

"Well I _do_ see a boy who's probably told so many lies that he doesn't even know the difference between the truth and the lie." She said snobbily, crossing her arms across her chest.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. It was the first sign that he was an actual person. "Don't worry, in a few months people will have the same thoughts about you," he sighed, rubbing his temples and turning away from the bright light.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked hotly.

"You work for the _Daily Prophet_, don't you?" Before she could comply he cut her off sharply. "Well, then. You have your answer as to what my previous statement meant. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave me alone."

"I'm not leaving until I get my story!" She spat, putting her hands on her hips cattily.

"Then you should have listened to me in the _beginning _when I wanted to tell you what happened instead of being ignorant hypocrites!" Harry had been so stationary in the shadows, but her demand had set him off the edge, and he turned quickly to face her. His emerald eyes were hard and dancing with fire and anger. The girl took a few steps back in fear.

The dark haired girl never came back after that incident.

Many had come after her. Many reporters, that is. Not once did any of his old friends come to seek the truth. Not once did anyone just come to see him and offer comfort. He was truly alone in this world.

Harry Potter sat with his back against the cold and moldy stones of the wall and leaned his shaggy head back against it and closed his eyes. In doing this he transported himself back to a time when he was happy. He knew that it was risky, doing this. The Dementors would be back any minute to suck all the happiness and peacefulness away, leaving him nothing but pain. But he'd risk it every night for only a few moments of that pleasure.

"So how is our local murderer this evening?"

The waxy voice shook Harry through his core and he jumped, startled and ended up hitting his head on the wall before him.

Swearing under his breath he looked up to give the shadow a piece of his mind, but stopped when the figure stepped into the light.

"Damn..."

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	4. A Proposal

**Authoress' Note:** _Okay, first off I'd like to thank you all for your reviews! Next, I want to say that this is NOT going to be a slash story even though this chapter might make you want to disagree with me. I'm one of those crazy authors that are all hyped up on details and I don't put something in a story without a very good reason. Back to the whole 'slash' question, I don't have a problem with those kinds of stories, I just don't really agree with them because I highly doubt J.K. Rowling would write such stuff. Maybe I'm wrong, but she hasn't yet, so I'm going to stick with my previous thought. Another thing, I got a review on my chapters being so short. Being a Junior in highschool doesn't give me much time to do all the extra things that I want to. And in a few weeks I'm going to be getting very busy with school work, extra activities for school, and scholarships that I have to apply for. I'm not planning on abandoning this story or my other one, so if I don't post long chapters or if I don't post for a while don't think that I am abandoning you guys. Just please be patient with me. _

_Okay... Enough of that, and on with the Disclaimer so you guys can read the chapter._

**Disclaimer: **_Sadly, I do not own any of the HP cannon, so don't bother sueing me because you won't get much. Well, you probably could, but I advice you not to because you wouldn't have much of a case. I own all new characters that you don't recognize as well as all the little things and the plot._

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**Chapter Four: **A Proposal

Stepping out of the shadows in all of his inhumane blond headed glory with a familiar smirk on his lips Draco Malfoy was a sigh for sore eyes, even if he was unwanted. Docked out in quality black velvet and equipped with what was sure to be a mahogani walking stick with a snake's head carved out of onyx with ruby encrusted eyes that glinted evilly at Harry. The harsh prison light that swung lethargically on the ceiling glinted off Draco's bleached hair and sent blinding bursts of light into Harry's eyes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry growled, pushing himself up into a sitting position awkwardly, and then finally standing. The darkness and lack of provisions had weakened him to an extent such that it was difficult for him to do the most simplest of things.

"I wanted to merely talk to an old friend. Is that so wrong, Potter?" Draco asked, his voice had the same oily essence that his father had once possessed.

"We were never friends, Malfoy. You despised me when we were in school and after. And you still despise me now, especially-"

"_Especially_ when you killed my father?" Draco spat, cutting Harry off.

"I didn't kill him! I didn't kill anyone except Vol-"

"Except Voldemort." Draco said calmly, once again cutting Harry off.

"Would you stop bloody cutting me off? I can finish my own sentences," Harry said hotly and launched himself violently to the bars that separated him from the outside world and prevented him from ripping Malfoy apart, limb by bloody limb.

"Easy there, Killer." Malfoy spoke smoothly as he stepped away from Harry. "No, I know you didn't kill Father. Nor do I believe that you killed Weasel's father either. You're too bloody noble to do anything like that."

Harry's breath slowed slightly and he loosened his grip on the bars, allowing the blood to flow back into his fingertips. Glaring at the man standing in front of him, he dared wonder if it was possible that Malfoy had changed for the better.

Draco, using Harry's uncertainties to his advantage, snaked a pale hand through the bars and lightly grazed his fingertips down Harry's cheek.

Shocked at the sudden coldness on his skin and the obscure gesture, Harry propelled himself backwards and away from the opening of the cell. Goosebumps spread like wildfire across his flesh and he desperately clawed at his face, determined to wipe away the weird sensation on his cheek that Malfoy had left.

"Get the hell away from me!" Harry shouted, pressing his starved body against the prison wall. His chest was rising and falling rapidly and his emerald orbs were flashing wildly in anger and distrust.

Draco Malfoy sighed audibly, shaking his head sadly at the pathetic sight before him. It saddened him to see what was once a prime specimen of the male species broken and visibly transformed into something ugly. Harry Potter had changed, and it hadn't been for the better.

"I want to help you, Harry. Let me help you." Malfoy said softly, trying to calm the wild boy back into the light.

"I don't want _your_ help, Malfoy. I don't want anyone's help." He spat, glaring viciously through his thick scraggly bangs of raven hair.

"Whether you want help or not, Harry, you _need_ it. Look at you, you're a wreck. You don't belong here."

"If you're so keen on my innocence, then why didn't you say something at court? I saw you so don't you _dare_ tell me that you weren't." Harry growled.

"Your so called _friends_ didn't even speak up for you! So why should I? Do you realize how bad that would've looked when my father had been a known Death Eater?" Malfoy chuckled satanically and threw his head back mockingly. "The son of a Death Eater speaking up for the innocence of a man who killed the Dark Lord. Why on Earth would I do _that?_"

"You make no sense, Malfoy. So just get the Hell out of here." Harry spat angrily."You wouldn't want to be here when the Dementors come."

Malfoy stiffened slightly and paled under the lights even more so, which seemed almost ridiculously impossible.

"This won't be the last you'll hear of me, Harry. I want to help you. And I always get what I want." He sneered before turning sharply on his heel and vanishing from sight.

Harry let out a sigh of relief and collapsed back onto the slimy floor, his arms spread out and his chest rising and falling slowly. He hated Malfoy with a passion, and thought that Malfoy had the same feelings. He didn't doubt that Malfoy still hated him, but there was something about the boy that he just couldn't put his finger on. He seemed more... More evil.

"Evil son of a bitch, that one," said a voice. Harry lifted his head up unsteadily and squinted at the figure in front of him. When the figure registered in his brain of that of a female's he groaned and slammed his head back onto the floor, cursing when it caused a shock of pain.

The woman snorted and through closed eyes he could imagine a smirk on her face.

"Whoever you are, leave. I have no more strength to deal with people, especially reporters." Harry grumbled, and was surprised to say the least that the woman understood him and the reply that she commenced.

"I don't care if you have the strength of Hercules. Nor do I care if you have the attitude and respect of a Death Eater." Her voice was femininely husky and tainted with a strict perseverance.

Sighing, Harry sat up and leaned his back against the side wall, staring at her through critical eyes. Her dark locks were pulled back into a tight McGonagle bun fashion and her face was round with sharp well defined angles. Lips painted a dark red and in a straight line and dark eyes that stared back unblinkingly at him gave her a more professional look; one that showed she wasn't one to be messed with. He wouldn't quite call her ugly, but she wasn't the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, either. She had an average height, but her attitude and self appearance made up for any lack of height that she had.

"Who are you?" He rasped, pushing himself up more to get a better look at the young woman before him.

She answered him straightforward without beating around the bush and giggling insanely like all the other female reporters that had flocked to his cell before.

"For starters I'm going to tell you right now that I'm not a reporter. And next I'm going to calmly and tell you specifically what I want. But before I do that I'm going to ask if I'll have you full cooperation. I'm not here to your time, Mr. Potter. And I don't intend to waste mine, either." She spoke quickly and articulately. She had more to say. "Also, if we're going to do this, you have to be one hundred percent with me. Got it?"

"No. Why would I agree to do anything with you when I have no idea who you are or what I'm getting myself into?"

"I'm here to help you, Mr. Potter. It'll be a great risk, but if you want your freedom and innocence known then it'll have to be a risk you'll have to take. Now, do we have a deal?"

"What makes you think that I'll accept help from you when I wouldn't even accept help from a man who is one of the richest of them all?" He spat. He was tired and wasn't in the mood for this.

"Because unlike him, Mr. Potter, I'm willing to go at great lengths to prove your innocence. And unlike him I don't have a bad reputation with the ministry and the rest of the wizarding and muggle world alike." She stopped talking and allowed her words to settle into Harry's mind, watching his every move like a hawk, anticipating a reaction of some sort. If she saw what she was looking for, she didn't let on.

"Well... I guess I better be going now. I'll come back once you've thought things through. Good day, Mr. Potter." And with that she turned and slowly walked away. But before she completely vanished from sight, she paused. Without turning around she spoke softly, but loud enough for him to just barely hear her.

"I'd think long and hard at my proposal, Mr. Potter. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for those who don't get that second chance at freedom."

And with that, she was gone.

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	5. Dreams

**Authoress' Note: **_Alright... this is my last postage until Thanksgiving break as I really need to concentrate on my schoolwork. I hope that this chapter is long enough... almost four pages in my word document. Anyways, this chapter is stock full of symbolism and hidden meanings. (Just to warn you) If you don't like it blame it on my English teacher, or just not read it. Or, you can ignore it and continue reading the story. Well... Enough of my insistant ramblings and onto the story..._

**Disclaimer:**_ Sadly for me I do not own all the HP world that is cannon save for all characters and et cetera that you don't recognize. Espeically the plot. TIS MINE!!!!!!!!_

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**Chapter Five: **Dreams

The air was crisply fresh and soothingly still as the rain fell all around him, a sound so melodic that he could just barely hear whispered voices singing to him. The grass, though wet with rain drops, was a comfort to his cold and haggard body and provided a sentimental warmth that flowed through his veins giving him strength.

Breathing in deeply, Harry Potter kept his eyes closed as he slowly sat up and let the rest of his senses take control. The steady splash of raindrops in puddles and sliding down each blade of crisp, emerald blades of grass resounded in his ears. A refreshing scent filled his nose and consumed him till he was lightheaded. Tilting his head back, he stuck out his tongue to taste the silver rain drops and his fingers grazed the glistening blades and felt the cool wetness that covered his hands.

The rain surrounded him and he breathed it in hungrily. He felt at peace. Which was something that he hadn't been able to experience in a long time.

Even though his eyes were closed tightly, he could still see where he was, could still see the wonders that surrounded him. And as each second passed his vision grew clearer.

He was sitting in a patch of grass that was filled with bright, emerald four-leaf clovers that were jeweled with rain drops. A few feet away from where he sat was a gurgling brook that sparkled and glittered in the bright sunlight and sent off lights that were reflecting from the warm sun above. On the other side of the brook was a small meadow surrounded by a thick wood and wild flowers of every color.

". . . Harry! Come play with us!"

Looking up, Harry saw Ginny smiling and giggling playfully as she stood in the meadow. Her summer dress was the color of cotton with pretty little red flowers embroidered in the hem. Crimson hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and every time she tossed her head back to let out another burst of giggles it would fly around her head like a vibrant halo.

Harry laughed as he watched her skip around the meadow, laughing like all was right with the world. She came to a halt at the side of the brook holding out her arms to him, beckoning him over.

"Come on, Harry! Look how beautiful the world is now . . . " She turned and pointed behind her. Looking curiously, he stood up shakily and peered over her shoulder.

Surprised, he saw Hermione sitting cross-legged in a patch of four-leaf clovers cooing to something that was small in her arms. An exhausted, but tremendously happy smile played on her lips and she bent down to the bundle she carried. She looked up and Harry saw that her face was somewhat red, as though she had just been through a tiering ordeal.

"Ron . . . " Her voice was soft but full of joy as she looked lovingly to a tall, muscular man with light crimson hair. His face held traces of exhaustion as well, but his eyes were bright as he held out his arms to the bundle that Hermione was holding out to him.

"He's so beautiful, and so full of life." Harry could hear the pride in Hermione's voice.

It was then that Harry realized that their attention was directed to a baby that was swaddled in a blue blanket. The child was staring up at Ron with wide eyes, and then slowly, it turned toward Harry.

"Look Harry . . . He sees you."

Ginny's voice was soft and he had to strain to hear it.

"Look how he watches your every move, Harry. See how he looks like he sees and knows only you. You saved him, Harry. You saved him . . . "

The rain slowed to nonexistence and nothing was spoken nor heard. Ginny had stepped away into the shadows. Hermione slowly stood up and walked backward into the wood and disappeared from view. Next, Ron walked up to the brook slowly with his head down.

Stopping at the sandy bank with tears in his eyes he placed the babe on the rocks and removed the blue blanket so that the child lay naked before him. The tears were now streaming freely down Ron's cheeks as he bent down one last time to kiss the child's head.

Harry didn't dare breath as he watched Ron slowly stand up, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Ron took deep, unsteady breaths and started whispering quietly to the babe on the rocks.

"We'll always love you, Harry. And we'll never forget you..."

Suddenly, the sky opened up and a bolt of lighting streaked down from the sky and thunder erupted, sending shockwaves through Harry's body. Rain poured heavily down from the Heavens and soaked his body through and through. He could hardly see a thing and he was struggling to the edge of the brook, intending to make his way across.

"No! No, Ron! Don't do it! No!"

He didn't even know why he was shouting until he had wiped his eyes and saw that Ron was hunched on the ground shaking madly and choking uncontrollably on his sobs.

"Ron... W-what's wrong?" Harry could hear his voice in his ears, but wasn't aware of his lips moving.

"Ron? . . "

Stepping over puddles of mud that was collecting all around he couldn't see why Ron was so upset.

It was then that Harry happened to look down. And as he did so, he felt his stomach clench and he felt sick and felt a numbness consume him

Laying down sprawled eagle in the brook, being pelted unmercifully by the rain was... Was... _Him._ His face was pale and a trickle of ruby blood dribbled down from somewhere under his hairline. The soaked clothes he wore clung to his battered body and he saw that his right arm was slashed savagely.

Harry stumbled backwards, breathing in heavily and choking on the rain and sweat that accumulated on his brow. This wasn't happening. What was going on? Where was he?

A shriek exploded and hit Harry in the chest, making his blood run cold. Behind Ron, near the wood was Hermione. She was kneeling on the grass screaming madly, pain etched on her face and burst from her mouth.

"No! _Oh, God, no!" _

She was rocking back and forth crazily, her brown hair flying around in the wind and shrouding her anguished face from view. Harry wished the rest of what he saw was shrouded from his sight. . .

Lying crumpled in her arms, a bloodied mess was... Was _Ginny_.

"Oh, God! Please, please no!"

"_No!!!!"_

"_No!!! Arrggghhhhh!!!!!_"

Harry fell backwards onto the ground hard, hitting his head. Though everything went black he could still feel the rain pelt his skin. It had slowed down considerably, the rain. And the torment which had penetrated his skin and the anguish that had escaped the lips of his beloved friends were no more. All he head was the soft sound of the rain. . .

"_Harry. . . Harry, you need to wake up. Harry. . ."_

Frowning, Harry scrunched up his face trying to place the voice that was resounding in his brain. The female voice was familiar, though he had trouble placing it.

"_Harry. . . Wake up now. Harry. ._ ."

Opening his eyes, Harry was hit with a sudden burst of cold hair and his body began shivering and shaking violently. Darkness exploded around him, save a bright beam of harsh light in the distance.

"What. . . What's going on? Where am I?"

"You're in Azkaban, Harry."

His vision cleared and his eyes met with a pair of hazel ones that were clouded with concern. Immediately recognition came to him and the remembrance of this woman from the day before came to him. All confusion and fright had vanished from his system and anger and resentment replaced their absence.

"What do you want?" He asked harshly, pulling away abruptly from her. "And how did you get into my cell?"

The young woman blinked in response and pursed her lips, apparently thinking of an appropriate answer.

"Have you thought about my deal? Are you willing to accept it?"

Harry glared angrily at her, breathing heavily with exhaustion.

"Yes, I've thought about it." He rasped out.

"And? What have you decided?"

"I've decided that. . . "


	6. Drama, Horrors, and Happy Endings

**Authoress' Note:**_ Sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter. I've been really busy with my other stories, and I'd completely lost the motivation to write this one. But I felt guilty for just abandoning it, so I've written the next chapter. It's not as long as the others, (not that they are really long, themselves) but hopefully the next one will belonger and more better._

**Disclaimer:**_ I own none of HP cannon except Gabrielle and the plot. Don't sue, you won't get much._**

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**Chapter Six: **_Dramas, Horrors, and Happy Endings_

He was in a room. He didn't know where it was, only that he wasn't in the catacombs of Azkaban anymore. Instead, he had been brought to a warm room with a blazing fire and soft blankets that heated his chilled flesh. In his hands was a cup of steaming hot Butter Beer. Oh, God, how he missed the buttery taste of this deliciously hot liquid.

Keeping his eyes closed, he opened his ears to the cackling of the fire in the fire place. Just the sound warmed his body, and woke him of the cold reverie he'd been in for the longest time. The grandfather clock on the wall chimed twelve times. It was midnight, and he was here, in some room far away from the stench of guilt and torture that he'd grown so used too in a short amount of time.

"Harry? Harry, are you listening to me?" The woman's voice brought him out of his daze, and he blinked several times to get her into focus.

She was sitting next to him on the couch and looking at him with a puzzled look formed on her features. Harry stared at her for several minutes, studied her eyes, her face, the way she stood up so straight on the couch, the way her delicate hands were clasped together on her lap.

The horrid shadows of that Hell Hole had dimmed her beauty extravagantly to a point that from the moment she'd stepped into the firelight it gave the impression as if she were bathed in a golden glow. Her dark locks had been let out of the tight bun she'd previously had them in, and she'd redone her hair into a loose pony tail that hung low on her back, and glowed a warm and vibrant gold. The colors of her hazel eyes were more green with silver mist, and they were large and open to the soul, but closed off to the world.

"You know that you never did tell me your name." He rasped out, and then winced at the harshness of his voice. A soft chuckle from the young woman persuaded him to look up once again.

"Gabrielle. But you can call me Gabby." She replied nonchalantly as she stared into the fire. Her back was painfully straight and her hands were clasped in her lap. Nibbling on her bottom lip with her eyebrows drawn in together told him that she was in deep thought.

"Gabrielle . . . You're not like . . . Some sort of _angel_, are you?" His voice was somewhat slurred from mental exhaustion. It was strange that all he would want to do once he left that wretched place was sleep. But it couldn't be helped.

The young woman snorted and rolled her eyes. Pushing herself off the couch, she made her way over to the fireplace and started shifting the logs around with the poker. Brilliant sparks jumped around and comforting warmth filled the room and washed over his haggard body.

"Why didn't you do that with magic?" He asked suddenly. His vision was becoming ever more foggy and he fought to clear it.

"Because, Harry, unlike what most people like believe, magic doesn't solve everything." She paused, thinking a slight moment. "Also, it's good not to become some lazy bum who's dependant on magic. God gave us arms and legs, and hands and feet. Why not use them?"

Harry shrugged, he didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore, and he didn't _want_ to know anymore.

Gabby clicked her tongue disapprovingly, and shook her head. "Now, now, Harry. That's not a good perspective on things. Don't give up just yet." She moved closer to him on the couch, and he opened his mouth to object.

"Harry, please. Don't be such a pompous prat. Life sucks, but guess what, it gets better eventually."

"Yeah, when I'm good and dead." I grumbled, shaking his head swiftly. He heard a deep sigh coming from next to him, and refused to look at her.

"You want things to change Harry. You said so yourself. Yet, here I am trying to help you, and you keep throwing it all back in my face."

"I never said I wanted to change things," He snapped, keeping his eyes painfully focused on the fire.

"Then why are you here?"

Harry turned to look at her, and saw that she'd straightened her back and crossed her arms over her chest. With her chin held high, she observed him with a cool, imperial look. She was becoming quickly annoyed with his bantering, and wasn't afraid to show it.

"I don't know why I'm here!" His blood was beginning to boil at a dangerous temperature, and they both knew it. "I didn't even have time to fully answer you before I was whisked here. How do you know I want to change things? Maybe I was happy back there in that Hell hole! At least when I was in there people got a long better." He was breathing harder.

"Stop trying to save people, Harry! You've done enough of that since you were one year old!" She stood up now, and placed both hands on her hips. He stood up as well, but she wasn't done talking. "People can protect themselves, if given the chance. They could have saved themselves from Voldemort, but they were too scared and too ignorant to do so."

"But the prophesy" She interrupted him with a bitter laugh.

"That prophesy was crap. Anyone can make a prophesy, and anyone can believe it. You had already been chosen to die even before that prophesy was made. The rest of the wizarding world just needed some way to make sure that you would do it. People make their own drama and horrors, Harry. And people make their own happy endings, too." Her voice had grown deathly low, and she didn't blink when she spoke, just merely gazed at him through piercing hazel eyes.

* * *


End file.
